"No!" cried Peregrine, while in despair he caught her in his arms--"No! never! But let me die with you!"
And now a fine, penetrating harmony was heard, as if little silver bells were struck. Dörtje, with fresh roses on her lips and cheeks, started up suddenly from the sofa, and, breaking into a convulsive laughter, skipt about the chamber. She seemed to have been bit by the tarantula.
Peregrine gazed in terror on the strange spectacle, and the same did the physician, who stood at the door quite petrified, keeping out Mr. Swammer, who had followed him.
Sixth Adventure.
Strange behaviour of strolling jugglers in a tavern, together with a tolerable buffeting.--Tragical history of a tailor at Sachsenhausen.--How George Pepusch astonished some honest folks.--The horoscope.--Pleasant battle of some well-known people in Leuwenhock's apartments.
All the passers-by stopt, stretched out their necks and peeped through the window into the coffee-room. With every moment the crowd grew greater, the pressure more violent, and the noise louder. All this was occasioned by two strangers, who, besides that their form, their dress, their whole manner had something extraordinary about it, that was repulsive and ridiculous at the same time, played off many wonderful tricks, such as had never been seen before. The one, an old man, of a dirty, disagreeable appearance, was dressed in a surtout of shining stuff. Sometimes he made himself thin and long, sometimes he would shrink himself up to a short fat fellow, winding about all the time like a worm. The other, with powdered hair, motly silk coat, under-dress of the same, large silver buckles, and altogether resembling a petit-maitre of the last half of the foregoing century, repeatedly flew up to the ceiling, and then gently let himself down again, while, with a cheerful voice, he trilled discordant songs in a language altogether unknown.
According to the host's declaration, they had both come in--one a short time after the other--like orderly people, and had called for wine. Then they had gazed more and more keenly on each other, and entered into conversation; and although the language of it was unintelligible to all the guests, yet their tone and manner showed they were engaged in a dispute, which grew warmer and warmer. On a sudden they had taken their present form and began these mad tricks, which continually attracted more spectators.
"The man, who flies up and down so admirably," exclaimed one of the spectators, "is the clock-maker, Degen, of Vienna--he who invented the flying machine, with which he is constantly contriving to tumble down upon his nose."
"No," replied another; "that is not the clock-maker. I should rather fancy that it was the Little Tailor of Sachsenhausen, if I did not know that the poor thing was burnt."
I know not whether my readers are acquainted with the Little Tailor of Sachsenhausen? Here it is.